


Thicker Than Blood

by Gargant



Category: Tales of Xillia
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:18:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7879786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gargant/pseuds/Gargant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bisley first introduced Rideaux into his life, Julius hadn't known what to think. He certainly hadn't ever expected the chance to meet someone like himself. Someone else cursed with the power of the Chromatus and beholden to Bisley Bakur. When Julius met Rideaux, it seemed he might finally have an ally in this wretched world.</p>
<p>(This is a pre-canon fanfic exploring some of the early days in Julius and Rideaux's relationship.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thicker Than Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tales of Big Bang 2016! With special thanks to Nienna and Fel both for reading this over for me, you are both beautiful angles. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> This isn't a shippy fanfic, largely on account of being quite early in the Xillia 2 timeline. However I *do* ship this pairing, and it probably shows, so read with caution if that bothers you. Additional warnings for canon-compliant violence and emotional manipulation.

It began with Bakur, as so many things did.

Julius, not quite thirteen and already accustomed to doing as he was told, saw the command to report to Bakur's office and didn't waste much thought on what it might mean. New orders, he'd assumed, perhaps another fractured dimension to be eliminated. A small part of him almost welcomed it. At least it would take him away from Spirius for the day. The further he was from Bisley Bakur, the better. 

And besides, he'd already destroyed four. There was no coming back from that. What difference would one more make? He was already damned for what he'd done.

Those were the thoughts that occupied him as he walked into the CEO's luxurious office suite—and immediately halted, surprised to find himself pinned by not one but _two_ sets of eyes.

Bisley was unwelcome but expected, seated casually on the front of his own desk, the very picture of benevolent interest. The sight of that alone was enough to set Julius on edge—he knew better than anyone how untrustworthy that smile could be.

It was the second gaze that had surprised him.

Standing in front of Bakur, and staring at him with undisguised curiosity, was a stranger his own age. Julius hesitated, eyes locked with this unexpected guest. A skinny kid with dark hair and bright eyes, fading bruises still visible on his cheekbone and neck. His clothing was threadbare, his hair cut choppily around his chin—both added to his angular appearance. But he held himself with confidence, back straight and head cocked; his lips thinned to a cocky little smirk when he saw Julius's hesitation.

“Come on in, Julius,” Bakur called, and Julius recovered himself, frown already set in place. He walked forward, taking up a position beside the stranger who still watched him with unwelcome intensity. Bakur smiled, ignoring the atmosphere that hung over them. “This is Rideaux,” He continued, gesturing to the smug stranger. “I'm hoping to bring him on board. The two of you will working closely together from now on.”

They'd barely met, but already Julius couldn't imagine anything worse. “I don't need his help,” He snapped, setting his jaw against the words. The less he had to do with other people the better, and especially anyone assigned to him by Bakur.

He hadn't even glanced at the newcomer as he spoke, intent on trying to decipher Bakur's expression as it shifted toward a disapproving frown. So it was that Julius almost jumped when the voice that responded to him came from—Rideaux, his name was. “You don't need _my_ help?” Rideaux sniffed, and lifted his head, haughty and arrogant. “What makes you think I'll need _yours_?”

_Now_ Julius looked at him, once again taking in the ragged appearance, the skinny angles and signs of hardship. He wasn't dressed as an employee of Spirius, which meant that Bakur hadn't officially hired him yet. Julius's frown deepened, perplexed and frustrated in equal measure.

Bakur only chuckled. “Now now, boys,” He said, and gave a magnanimous smile that Julius knew better than to accept. “There'll be plenty of time for you to get to know one another. For now, there's something I need you to do, Julius.”

He'd already been suspicious—now Julius outright scowled, tensing up in anticipation of whatever it was Bakur had planned.

“When I found Rideaux,” Bakur began, and Julius silently noted the way Rideaux's eyes darkened at the phrasing, “He had with him a very familiar watch. You understand what I'm talking about, don't you?”

“Chromatus,” Julius muttered, and glanced at Rideaux out of the corner of his eye. _Him?_

“I've tried to explain exactly what that means,” Bakur continued, “But I think the only way he can understand is with a demonstration. Would you be so kind?”

As if he were some pedigree hound to be paraded at will. Julius grit his teeth, considering refusal. But then he caught the skeptical gleam in Rideaux's eyes, and raised a hand to his chest.

It might have been enough to simply activate his Chromatus and let this Rideaux witness the physical transformation, but Julius knew a better way he could wipe that smug look off Rideaux's face. Feeling the shape of his own watch tucked neatly within his Spirius-issued jacket, Julius closed his eyes and let the transformation take hold.

Only a quarter of the Chromatus's full strength, but it was still more than enough to prove a point. When he heard Rideaux's startled gasp Julius suppressed a feeling of grim satisfaction and leapt forward, blade drawn in an instant. Rideaux hadn't known what to expect, and wouldn't have been able to defend himself if he had—Julius had the blade pressed against his throat in barely the blink of an eye, and held it there, statue-still.

Where Rideaux had been curious and suspicious before, now his eyes were wide and astonished. His mouth hung open, his hands were frozen uselessly at his sides, caught in mid-flinch. He looked... afraid. And unwell. Julius's stomach suddenly turned, the fleeting moment of triumph already snatched away. When Bakur clapped his hands together and laughed, Julius stepped back and let his sword fall back to rest at his side.

He felt dirty. It didn't make sense, and it wasn't fair, but it was true.

“ _That_ is the power of the Chromatus.” Bakur leaned back, hands placed flat on his desk and a confident smile on his face. “Or at least the _first_ stage of it. I believe both of you are capable of advancing _much_ further.”

When Bakur had started speaking, Rideaux's eyes had still been clouded by adrenaline. Julius watched uncomfortably as that expression shifted, Rideaux turning to look at Bakur with ravenous interest. “I can use that power too?” He asked, and Julius felt his sense of unease deepen.

“That's what we're going to find out,” Bakur replied.

Julius had always known that Bakur was using him, but he'd never expected to have to stand idly by while his father did the same thing to someone else. “Why are you getting him involved?” He demanded, and tensed up when Bakur looked at him. He knew how he must look, barely more than a child standing up to a man like Bisley Bakur, but even so he argued. “I'll handle the fractured dimensions by myself. No one needs to help.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Rideaux interrupted, snappy and furious. Julius rounded on him, nervous irritation lashing out at the nearest target.

“ _You_ shut up. You don't even know what I'm talking about.”

Rideaux's lip curled, all the fear gone out of him at the promises Bakur was making. “I know you're trying to keep all that power to yourself. You're afraid that I'll be better than you.”

Despite himself, Julius scoffed. “Don't be an idiot. I'm not afraid of you.”

“Then maybe you should be!” Rideaux fumbled in his pockets for a moment, all sharp and threadbare, and then produced a familiar item. Tarnished and scratched, but still unmistakeable—a Chromatus watch, just as Bakur had said. He held it clutched between both hands, and glared at Julius with fierce determination. As the seconds ticked past his confidence faded into muted frustration, and Julius watched Rideaux turn the watch over from palm to palm before he finally cast an imploring look in Bakur's direction, anger and embarrassment colouring his cheeks.

Bakur had shown amusement before. Now his expression was steely and cool, and made Julius's blood run cold. “I thought you could do this?” Was all he said, completely unmoved when Rideaux flushed further.

_That isn't what he said_ , Julius wanted to interrupt, but Rideaux didn't give him the chance. Unarmed but for the watch he didn't know how to use, Rideaux suddenly lunged at him, and it took Julius a second to realise that Rideaux was trying to snatch away the blade he still held.

“Don't be an idiot!” Julius snapped again, trying to pull away, but Rideaux came right after him, not giving him an inch. Julius grit his teeth, waited for the right moment, and then grabbed a firm hold on one of Rideaux's arms, twisting it sharply—Rideaux yelped in shock and swore aloud, and Julius released him.

It shouldn't have hurt too much, but Rideaux doubled over, clutching his arm against his chest and hissing in pain. Julius hesitated, wondering if he had somehow gone too far—and then the next thing he knew Rideaux was beneath his guard, striking up at his chin with the flat of one palm. Julius felt his jaw smack closed at the unexpected attack, felt the snapping judder of it right through tooth and bone, and furiously swung an unrepentant fist at the side of Rideaux's head. But the bastard was quicker than he looked, and seemed to have already figured out that he wasn't going to win this on strength alone; Rideaux dodged back and came in low again, tangling himself around Julius's ankles and knocking them both to the ground. Julius went down swearing, tossed his blade free for both their sakes, and took another swing at Rideaux's unprotected face.

This time he struck true and Rideaux swore again, blood immediately welling up on his lower lip as he scrambled away. Julius was prepared to go after him, goaded into the fight, when Rideaux suddenly raised one hand, clutching something—and with it came a burst of light. For the first time in his life, Julius experienced the activation of the Chromatus from somewhere outside of himself.

Where Rideaux's face had been pale before, now it was ashen, rimmed in black and red. A quarter-activated Chromatus just like his own. Julius froze, watching the stunned realisation dawn in Rideaux's eyes—and then Bakur stepped between them.

Julius immediately jolted away from the imposing figure of his father, letting the effects of his own Chromatus fall away from himself. Reverted, he prodded tentatively at his cheek, still feeling the reverberation from where his jaw had cracked.

Bakur only glanced at him before turning his full attention to Rideaux. The smile was back, and with it, something speculative. “How does it feel?” He asked.

Julius expected arrogance, or at least some of that ravenous hunger he'd heard before. Instead Rideaux's voice was thin, and awed. “It's...”

Whatever it was, Julius didn't get to find out. Rideaux's face suddenly crumpled in a spasm of pain, and as quickly as that, his Chromatus was deactivated again. He tried to speak but his voice came out as dry rasp, lips curling back in a snarl that seemed a mixture of frustration and panic.

For the longest time Bakur did nothing but watch, eyes narrow and unmoved. Not even when Rideaux sank to his knees, hands drawn up to his chest, did Bakur take action. Finally Julius hurtled past him, ignoring the astonished look on his father's face, and crouched down beside the obnoxious bastard who'd been trying to attack him only seconds earlier.

“What the hell's wrong with you?” He blurted, trying to still his own sense of rising panic, and didn't flinch from the livid glare that Rideaux threw in his direction. Julius could see the fear that lay beneath it, and did the only thing that seemed to make sense; put his arm around Rideaux's shoulders and squeezed. Rideaux hissed, maybe in pain, but didn't try to shake him off.

When Bakur finally moved he did so with alacrity, moving briskly around his desk to press a button on his intercom. “I need a medic in my office. Urgently.” _There_ was the voice of authoritative command that Julius had been expecting. Reassured, and disgusted with himself for feeling that way, he squeezed Rideaux's shoulders again.

“You're pretty good, for a skinny runt,” He confided, and could tell from the way Rideaux's eyes flickered toward him that the spiky compliment had been received.

When the medics arrived and took Rideaux away, Bakur went with them, and Julius was dismissed without a word being spoken in his direction. He stayed in the office for a long time afterward, nursing the ache in his jaw and wondering about this stranger who'd attacked him without provocation and almost collapsed in the process.

 

If only that had been the end of it.

-

It was weeks before he saw Rideaux again, and at first, no one bothered to inform Julius of what had become of him. Julius had privately nursed concerns, but when he finally found the stomach to ask Bakur directly, he was told that Rideaux was recovering. With that reassurance Julius put the issue aside, and as the days continued to tick by he was almost ready to give up on ever seeing his supposed colleague again. Obviously Rideaux has been too sickly for whatever Bakur wanted from him.

Fine. It was better that way, for everyone.

But in the end Rideaux _did_ reappear, waltzing across the cafeteria one day with so much undeserved swagger that Julius couldn't help but stare. A certain sickly pallor still clung to him, and he was half the size of everyone else present, but even so he projected pride and confidence, a picture perfect braggart.

When Rideaux was close to his table Julius ducked his head and tried to think suitably invisible thoughts, but it didn't help. Rideaux came and sat next to him anyway. He smelled clean. “Looks like we'll be seeing a lot more of each other from now on,” he said, and tapped the collar of his freshly pressed shirt. There, crossed in silver, sat the familiar emblem of Spirius. Julius eyed it, and felt his stomach sink.

“Good for you,” he said, cool and cheerless, and pointedly turned back to his meal.

“No need to be sour about it, Kresnik.” Rideaux swung his legs under the table, and in the same motion reached across to help himself to Julius's plate of food. Julius snatched belatedly, but failed to retrieve the buttered biscuit Rideaux had seized.

Whatever. It was horrible food anyway. “My name's Julius,” He said, pointedly tugging his plate across the table and away from any more of Rideaux's unwelcome scavenging. “Are you allowed to eat that? What would your doctor say?”

Rideaux didn't respond to his comment, but Julius had a hunch that the remark had managed to sting nonetheless. “You _are_ a Kresnik though, aren't you? I've been doing some research. Spirius was founded by Milla Kresnik, and you're one of her direct descendants. The CEO must be too. The Kresnik's and the Bakur's and the Marta's. Those are the families that have the closest ties to the power of the Chromatus.”

All true. Or at least, all the same things that Julius had been taught. “So what?”

Rideaux scoffed, still eyeing his plate. “I guess you _wouldn't_ care about any of that, would you? You don't have to. You've got good blood.”

_Good blood?_ Julius thought of Bisley Bakur, the man who was supposed to be his father. Just the idea of it was enough to put him off his food; wearily, he shoved the plate back in Rideaux's direction. “Blood isn't that important.”

Already helping himself to Julius's discarded meal, Rideaux gave him a smile that was prickly and cheerful. “That's the first intelligent thing I've heard you say. You're right. Blood _isn't_ important.” His smile became all the sharper, smug and cunning. “When I leave you in the dust, make sure you remember that.”

Julius scoffed, and stood. “Good luck,” He offered, and left Rideaux to it.

-

In those early days, Rideaux asked him a lot of questions. Sometimes Julius ignored him, sometimes Julius goaded him, and sometimes Julius was goaded in turn.

A lot of it was just nonsense. Questions about the best places to make connections in Trigleph, the best places to eat, the best people to know. Nothing that Julius had ever concerned himself with. “You're just a kid,” Julius had told Rideaux once, and been confused when Rideaux had laughed at him.

“Then so are you,” Rideaux had taunted back, standing as tall as he could. “I'm older than you are.”

Julius hadn't believed him, and that had led to a pointlessly bitter argument that ended only when they searched the archives to compare their listed dates of birth. Infuriatingly, Rideaux _was_ older, by almost a full year. Even more infuriating, he was incredibly smug about it.

“I'm still taller than you are,” Julius had finally countered, and taken some small consolation in the way Rideaux huffed.

But even _that_ hadn't lasted for long. It seemed to Julius that Rideaux was always eating, and soon enough it began to pay off. He put on weight, not quite the skinny angular stick that Julius had first encountered in Bakur's office—and he grew taller, too. Soon they were of a height with one another, standing back to back in the library and batting each others hands away in an attempt to measure which of them might have the barest millimetre of advantage on the other.

The last thing Julius had needed in his life was another person to hate. But there was something refreshingly petty about arguing with Rideaux. The stakes were as low as they'd ever been in his life, and didn't seem likely to rise. It shouldn't have been fun—it _wasn't_ fun, not always—but even so, there was something strangely simple about fighting a harmless enemy, and privately, Julius found himself wondering if Rideaux felt the same way.

-

Julius had always trained alone, practicing old techniques or else pitting his skills against combat robots in the basement of the Spirius building. When the opportunity was granted he'd even fight captured monsters—anything but spar with his fellow Spirius employees.

So, naturally, Rideaux managed to ruin _that_ , too. Bakur insisted that they practice together, wanting to bring Rideaux up to the same level as other Spirius elite. Their fighting styles couldn't have been more different. Where Julius favoured blunt strength and finishing the job as quickly as possible, Rideaux relied on agility and sleight-of-hand, content to defeat his opponents with trickery and speed rather than sheer force.

“That isn't always going to work,” Julius growled at him on more than one occasion. “Especially for you. You don't have the stamina to keep that up.”

But Rideaux didn't seem concerned by the warnings—and, annoyingly, he showed signs of improvement. Julius found himself more and more pressed to keep up with his opponents reflexes; when Bakur came to assess them one day, he'd said as such himself.

“You've come a long way, Rideaux,” Bakur announced, and Julius watched with miserable dissatisfaction as Rideaux devoured the praise with typical ravenous appetite. “I think it might be time for you to try your first real mission.”

“A fractured dimension,” Rideaux immediately grasped, head jerking up and eyes shining at the prospect. Julius had no idea why Rideaux sounded excited by the idea, but it seemed to please Bakur.

“The divergence is very low,” Bakur explained, and turned to leave them. “I think you'll be able to handle this one by yourself. I'll have the co-ordinates sent along to you shortly. Prepare until then.”

The first time Julius had spoken out against Bakur's plans for Rideaux, it had led them to blows. This time he kept quiet until Bakur had disappeared into the elevator before turning to state his case. “You shouldn't go by yourself,” He said, and saw immediately the disagreeable fire light in Rideaux's eyes. “I'm serious,” Julius insisted, hoping to cut the argument off before it could begin. “I'll come with you.”

“I don't think so,” Rideaux sneered, defiant and still looking all too pleased with himself. “Did anyone help _you,_ your first time?”

_No._ Julius hesitated, and Rideaux scoffed. “I thought not. You think if you come with me, you'll make me look weak. Well, tough luck.” Smiling, it was Rideaux's turn to saunter away from him. “Prepare to be amazed, Kresnik.”

-

In the end there was nothing amazing about it, but Rideaux _did_ succeed. Julius warred with his emotions, at once grateful to see that Rideaux was safe and frustrated that Rideaux's unrealistic ambitions had once again been rewarded.

And worst of all, Rideaux seemed like he'd enjoyed himself. Julius still remembered his own first experience with a fractured dimension—the sick dread he'd felt at having to take the life of something that appeared human, even as he'd tried to reassure himself that none of it was real. Bisley had told him countless times that their own dimension was the only true one, the prime dimension, the only one that mattered—but when he'd shattered his first divergence catalyst, and seen the black blood that stained his blade, he'd retched all the same.

But not Rideaux. One fractured dimension became two, became three, and if anything, Rideaux's exhilaration only seemed to heighten with each one he destroyed. Julius stopped talking to him, as much as work obligations and Rideaux's own stubbornness would allow.

He'd thought, then, that he wanted no more to do with Rideaux. But in the end, Rideaux's next hurdle proved to be something much more mundane—and confronted with it, Julius found himself almost willing to forgive Rideaux's uncomfortable foibles.

With nothing else to occupy his time and no desire to be elsewhere, Julius had still been hanging around the office. Rideaux had been working nearby, bent over a pile of papers—this was the fifth fractured dimension he'd destroyed, but the first time that Bakur had insisted he present a written report about it. Walking past, Julius hadn't meant to look. It was only when Rideaux defensively hunched his shoulders over the paper that Julius glanced, more by reflex than genuine interest, and then he'd had no choice but to do a double-take on what he'd seen.

It had been almost an hour, and yet... “Is that all you've written in all that time?” Julius asked incredulously, and recoiled sharply when Rideaux whirled around to face him.

“I don't see what it's got to do with you,” Rideaux snapped, uncharacteristically defensive from the outset; Julius could see the colour rising in his face. “Why are you even here? Go home already.”

“You're going to be here all night if you keep going like that,” Julius persisted, unsure why he was even bothering. For a second he thought that Rideaux was going to try and hit him, and he braced himself for it, frustration and adrenaline rising in equal measure.

But then Rideaux turned back sharply to his report, pen tapping rapidly against the almost blank sheet of paper in front of him. When he eventually spoke, his voice was brittle and small. “How do you spell 'divergence'?”

And just like that, Julius began to learn. The truth of where Rideaux had come from. The reason Rideaux had been so thin, that first day back in Bakur's office.

Rideaux had spent most of his life on the streets, or most of the life he was old enough to remember. He'd never been taught how to read or write, and what little he'd managed to learn wasn't enough to help him present something as formal as a written report. He wasn't stupid, but he wasn't educated—and he'd been much too proud to admit it.

“I used to be sicker,” Rideaux muttered. “We had debt. I don't know what happened to my parents after that.” Haughtily, he added; “I got by without them. They couldn't have been worth much.”

“Bad blood,” Julius mumbled in memory; Rideaux's glance was sharp, but not without appreciation.

It was more than he ever expected Rideaux to admit about himself, and it was the beginning of a strange, unspoken pact between them. They still fought, still tried to one-up one another at every possible opportunity, and Rideaux's hideous attitude still drove him crazy. But in the evenings they would sit together with their heads bowed over paperwork or old reports, and slowly but surely Rideaux seemed to find it easier.

It was an uneasy truce, but a genuine one. Friendship, of a sort—unexpected, and uninvited, and incredibly fragile, but friendship nonetheless. Julius knew how easy it would be to break the measure of trust that had been placed on him; Rideaux was prickly and prideful, and didn't want people knowing about something that he considered to be a weakness. If Julius repeated even one word of what they'd been doing together, he knew that Rideaux wouldn't forgive him for it.

It meant there was something between them now. Julius didn't mean to put faith in that, but it snuck up on him, and before he knew it, it was there. Rideaux was conniving, and sarcastic, and obnoxious, but despite it all, Rideaux had trusted him. That had to count for something.

-

They'd been sitting together one evening when Chronos had turned up in the paper they were reading. Julius had immediately tried to snatch it away, which was the worst possible thing to do; Rideaux's curiosity was piqued.

“Chronos was one of the first spirits, wasn't he?”

Julius sighed through his teeth, and sank down deeper in his chair. It was knowledge worth having, even if he had no interest in talking about it. “One of the three Primordial Great Spirits,” He corrected, rubbing a hand over his face. “Maxwell, Chronos and Origin.”

“Origin's Trial,” Rideaux recited thoughtfully; Julius nodded.

“It was their idea. Chronos was the one who granted the Kresnik family the power to use the Chromatus. But now he wants to stop us.” Julius found his attention settled on the desk in front of them, acutely aware of Rideaux's gaze upon him. There was a lot he could say about this, all of it straight from personal experience and Bakur's own convictions. The memory of his mother swam up before him, and Julius clenched his eyes shut against the image.

Chronos had killed his mother. His father had used her for her power, and failed to protect her, and Chronos had punished him for it by taking her life. Bakur had been weak, and Julius hated him for that. But Chronos had struck first.

He hated them both. He hated them all.

“Why?” Rideaux snapped impatiently, and Julius had the distinct impression the question had been asked more than once.

“Why what?” He asked, and saw Rideaux's irritation heighten.

“Why is Chronos against us?”

“Because spirits hate humans.” The only answer he had, an echo of sentiments he'd heard half a hundred times before. Julius swallowed, uncomfortable with repeating Bakur's words but not knowing what else to say. “Because he wants humanity to fail the trial. Because he's afraid of the wish we'll make when we reach Canaan.”

Rideaux flicked through the report, pausing at the pages that refered to Chronos and reading with steady conviction. Julius watched him, and thought again of the morning his father had knelt beside him and tried to explain what had happened to his mother.

Nothing could take back what had happened that day. But Julius knew that, and knew as well that he would never forget.

-

Improving Rideaux's literacy carried other unexpected side effects—some that managed to be both casual and life-changing.

Leaning at his desk one day and squinting at the documents before him, Julius almost leapt out of his seat in shock when a hand suddenly obscured his vision, appearing in the thin gap between the paper and his nose. Rideaux laughed raucously as he pulled his hand away, clearly delighted with himself for catching Julius so unawares.

“You really need glasses, Kresnik,” He announced between laughter.

Now that he'd had the chance to recover Julius scowled, more confused than he was angry. “What are you talking about?”

“Most people don't stick their faces into what they're reading, you know. Oh, wait—“ Rideaux clicked his fingers in a mockery of sudden understanding, “Of course you wouldn't realise that. You'd need to be able to see past your nose.”

“I can see just fine!” Julius insisted indignantly, but turned to once again look at the papers on his desk. He sat back, as far as he could in the uncomfortable metal chair, and tried to make out the words spread before him. The sentences ran together like columns of marching ants, indistinguishable from one another. Then he looked again at Rideaux, hovering at his shoulder with his hands on his hips and a smug expression on his face. “I can see _you_ just fine,” He persisted weakly. Rideaux grinned.

“You're long-sighted.” For some reason the announcement seemed to delight Rideaux. “That's just adorable.”

Julius couldn't find anything adorable about it, and certainly couldn't understand why Rideaux would find it so funny. Grumbling, he pushed the papers away. “So what? I'll get some glasses.”

“When?”

“I don't know. Soon.”

Rideaux's delight suddenly seemed amplified; a moment later Julius understood why. “Soon?” He said, “Why don't we go right now?” Julius tried his most quelling look, but that only seemed to make Rideaux's smirk all the brighter. “Come on. We haven't got anything better to do.”

“We're working,” Julius reminded him, sharply. Rideaux only shrugged.

“Not important work. We're here for the catalysts. Anything less than that is beneath is.”

It was a succinct reading of their job profiles, to say the least. Julius found himself suppressing a smile at the thought of their colleagues overhearing such a bold claim, and especially from someone half their age. His expression must have seemed like a sign of success to Rideaux, because he laid his hands on Julius's shoulders and fired off another dazzling smile.

“What's the worst thing that could happen?” He asked, apparently without irony. A dozen possible scenarios immediately sprung forward in Julius's mind, almost all of them ending in Bakur. But the prospect of sitting around _here_ all afternoon listening to Rideaux's endless whining about not getting his own way proved a powerful incentive. With a deep sigh, Julius climbed to his feet.

-

The boutique Rideaux took him to offered eye examinations, and soon enough Rideaux was proven correct in his diagnosis. Now that it had been pointed out to him Julius couldn't help but obsess over the way his vision blurred at such a close distance before coming back into focus again; the strain of trying to resist it was giving him a slight headache. It seemed impossible that he should never have noticed before, but the optician in charge assured him that it was quite normal to go years without realising anything was amiss. “You just assume this is how it must be for everyone,” She told him, not unkindly. “It often takes someone else to notice that something is wrong.”

Would he ever have realised something wasn't right if Rideaux hadn't pointed it out? It was a strange thought.

Still wearing their Spirius uniforms, the two of them were treated with the same respect and authority as any other paying customer despite their youth—something that Rideaux in particular seemed to relish. Julius didn't care either way, right up until Rideaux started springing suggestions on him, each set of frames more garrish and repulsive than the last.

“Do you want me to look like an idiot?” Julius snapped, and later, “What is _wrong_ with you?”, but none of it seemed to dissuade Rideaux's hideous fashion sense. In the end Julius had asked one of the assistants to bring him something plain—something _austere_ , Rideaux had interjected—and when the simple black frames had been presented to him Julius immediately agreed. What did it really matter? As long as he didn't look ridiculous, anything was fine.

Naturally Rideaux huffed and whined about his choice, so much so that Julius almost missed the part where Rideaux complimented him—or came close to it. “I guess basic _would_ suit you,” Rideaux had sighed as they walked out of the store, and Julius had nursed a private little smile. It wasn't exactly high praise, but coming from Rideaux it was plenty more than usual.

But when they walked back into Spirius HQ, an aide was waiting for them with orders to report directly to the CEO. Julius shot Rideaux a furious look and Rideaux turned decidely pale, but almost immediately recovered, flashing a wink and a shrug in the face of Julius's anger. _It'll be fine_ , Rideaux mouthed at him silently, and ignored Julius's obvious disbelief.

When they arrived, Bakur was in conference with several of his numerous secretaries; he looked up as they entered the room and immediately halted the conversation. The secretaries fanned out around Bakur's desk in an impromptu semi-circle, making way for Julius and Rideaux to approach, and Julius couldn't help but wince internally. Having to endure Bakur's displeasure was nauseating enough, but the thought of being punished on display made it all the more horrendous. Obscenely, Rideaux seemed bolstered by their presence, and looked at each of them with his usual insolent confidence.

“I don't know where the two of you went,” Bakur began, arms crossed stiffly over his chest, “And I don't particularly care. What I _do_ know if that you left without notifying anyone, and without obtaining permission. What made you think that that would be acceptable?”

Neither of them spoke; Julius stared ahead, gritting his teeth against the entire situation. Rideaux averted his gaze, obviously trying to appear contrite. It didn't seem to work—Bakur exhaled sternly.

“You're not children. Not here. You're employees. You have a salary. You're treated with the same dignity and respect as anyone else in this building.” _Because we're useful to you_ , Julius thought lividly, but knew better than to say the words aloud. “If you insist on behaving like children, then you can be punished like children.” Bakur gave a decisive nod, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Cleaning duty. Every evening, until I deem otherwise.”

_That_ captured Rideaux's attention, eyes widening and mouth dropping open, blatantly aghast at what he was hearing. Julius glanced at him, and for the first time in his life he actually found himself trying to suppress a smile in front of his father.

“Sir—” Rideaux started, but his attempt to negotiate was immediately cut off, Bakur's firm looking leaving no room for argument.

“I don't want to hear it. You're both dismissed.”

And that might well have been the end of it; Rideaux turned to leave, expression dour, and Julius was about to do the same... until he noticed his father looking at him, head cocked just slightly to one side. He hesitated, and Bakur spoke. “Glasses, Julius?”

“I'm long-sighted,” Julius recited flatly. “Thank you for noticing.”

Bakur's eyebrows rose, incredulous—at the information or just his tone, Julius wasn't sure and never had the chance to find out. Rideaux grabbed his wrist and yanked him toward the door, and Julius didn't need second prompting to remove himself from an unwanted conversation. Grinning over his shoulder, Rideaux spoke in a honeyed voice; “We can't all have eyes like _yours_ , sir.”

And then the office door was hissing closed behind them, and Bakur's reaction was sealed away behind it. Julius snatched his hand away, confused by the lurch in his chest that had accompanied Rideaux's words. But it was Rideaux who started first, catching him unprepared. “You're not going to get anywhere talking to him like that, you know. You can be such an idiot sometimes.”

Julius glowered, instantly distracted. “ _I'm_ the idiot? We wouldn't have _been there_ if I hadn't listened to you. Thanks for nothing, Rideaux.”

It could well have devolved from there—an ill-advised fist fight right outside Bakur's own office—if Bakur's aide hadn't intervened. “I've had a communication from the CEO,” he said, and Julius grimaced at the hint of amusement hidden in the man's eyes. “He would like you to commence your punishment immediately. I believe the cafeteria would be a good place to start, young sirs.”

-

It was only hours later, with a bucket of water at his feet and sweat beading his brow, that Julius finally remembered to challenge Rideaux on what he'd say. “You shouldn't talk to Bakur like that.”

Legs swinging from his perch of a nearby table, Rideaux gave him a questioning look. “Like what?” He asked, in a voice that said he knew _exactly_ what Julius was refering to.

At least one of them did. Julius paused in his work, leaning on the mop and wiping a hand down his face. It was difficult to articulate what it was that had made him uncomfortable—only, he was certain that something had been _wrong_ about it. “What you said to him back there,” Julius finally continued, his voice uncertain. “You shouldn't...”

“Be _impudent_?” Rideaux's voice was scathing at first, but surprisingly it softened at whatever he read in Julius's expression. “Don't worry about it. It's fine. Bakur likes my _attitude,_ ” Rideaux made quotation marks in the air with his fingers, rolling his eyes. “I've heard him say it.”

Something about _that_ made Julius's skin crawl, but Rideaux carried on blithely. “Always give them what they want, Kresnik. It's the only way to get by in this world, you know.”

Julius was far from convinced by that. “You shouldn't trust him,” He insisted.

“You shouldn't trust _anyone_ ,” Rideaux replied, and suddenly his expression was abstract, his smile focused on something distant and gone. After everything else that had happened it was one uncertainty too many for Julius; he didn't pause to think, only dipped his mop into the bucket and then swung, spraying dirty suds in a wide arc. Rideaux shrieked and dove backwards, too late to avoid the worst of it. When he resurfaced his hair was dripping, and his eyes were refocused—and blazingly angry.

By the time they finally stopped fighting, both soaked to the skin and laughing furious curses at each other, Julius had almost forgotten the reason for his discomfort.

-

When Bakur had first started sending them on joint missions, neither of them had been pleased with the idea. Quickly enough, though, it had evolved into a sort of competition—even if they shared the same goal, there was something to be said for being the first one to locate it, or the one to strike a killing blow. For Julius, it was a welcome distraction. With Rideaux's stupid competitive streak to occupy his attention, it was easier to separate himself from his actions. After a while it even became fun, or at least close to it.

Rideaux certainly seemed to enjoy himself, albeit with his usual brittle edge. Rideaux was not a gracious victor, and he was even worse when things went poorly for him. Both reactions nettled Julius's pride, and only made him work all the harder.

If Bakur noticed the way they became irritable with each other after each mission, or recognised the aggressive rivalry that was gaining traction between them, he didn't seem to care. Sometimes Julius wondered what Bakur truly thought of them, but never asked for Rideaux's opinion.

It was rare for a divergence catalyst to cause them any trouble. With their combined strength they were able to contend with challenges thrown their way, and quite often they were able to eliminate the target before it had any opportunity to try and mount a counter-attack.

When things finally changed, it wasn't a divergence catalyst that made the difference.

The latest divergence co-ordinates had deposited them into the wilderness surrounding Drellin, and, working with the assumption that they should start their search in the nearby town, Rideaux had immediately started complaining about the trek. Julius was so tired of it that he very almost missed the sudden shift in Rideaux's voice.

“What's that?”

He sounded bemused more than anything; Julius followed his gaze skyward with nothing more than curiosity—and froze in place.

The spirit that hovered above them, face still and implacable, was terrifyingly familiar. Forearms topped by two huge blades and silvery hair billowing down behind him, a monochrome figure of dangerous elegance; Julius knew who Chronos was. He knew, immediately and with absolute certainty, just how much trouble they were in.

And he knew, there and then, that it didn't matter. Bakur was beyond his reach, for now—but Chronos didn't have to be.

The way Chronos raised his hand was so casual, so relaxed; Julius barely had time to yell a warning before the arte sprung up around them. He heard Rideaux's shout and then the air was full of fire and ice, the lethal cut of unnatural wind sweeping past his face. Julius staggered back, reached within himself for the power of the Chromatus—Chronos's power, the power gifted to his blood—and then suddenly he heard a sharp crack and the earth leapt up beneath him.

It was one assault too many; too much to avoid from too many angles. He heard Rideaux yell again, a warning this time, but Julius couldn't do anything to prevent the protrusion of rock from striking the side of his chest. There was a sick-sounding crunch and then a stab of pain so sharp he would have mistaken it for a blade. The air was gone from him in an instant and he hit the ground gasping, too senseless from the agony to keep himself from screaming and too winded to actually make the sounds heard. His glasses skitted away across the barren ground, instantly forgotten.

“Don't move another step,” He heard Chronos command from somewhere above them, and looked up enough to see Rideaux a bare few metres away, staring upwards at the Great Spirit with terror flashing clearly in his eyes. Julius tried desperately to draw in air, and felt again the razor-sharp pain lancing through his chest; this time he _did_ scream, and suddenly Rideaux _was_ kneeling beside him, apparently willing to risk Chronos's wrath.

“Stay still,” Rideaux whispered frantically, placing a hand flat on his sternum.

Above them, Chronos looked _amused_. “I have a message for you to deliver,” he said smoothly, hovering before them as though he had nothing to fear. Julius thought again of his mother and felt his vision flutter and darken—the threat of unconsciousness, or just years of unspent grief and rage? Rideaux's hand pressed against him hardly seemed a worthy obstacle; Julius tried again to rise, and groaned impotent fury when Rideaux forced him back.

“He'll kill you!” Rideaux hissed at him, eyes darting back to Chronos. “Don't be an idiot!”

_I don't care,_ Julius swore to himself, and knew that he meant it. _I don't care if he kills me_.

Chronos seemed oblivious, unmoved or unconcerned by what was passing between them. “Tell Bisley Bakur that time is running out.” That was when he outright smiled. “For every fractured dimension you destroy, three more will spring up in its place. Tell him that his efforts are futile.”

“Tell him yourself,” Julius heard Rideaux growl softly beneath his breath, a petty act of rebellion much too quiet for Chronos to hear.

“Soon humanity will be forgotten, and everything will finally be as it should be.” The air behind Chronos shimmered and Julius groaned again as he saw the portal materialise. He was going to lose his chance, and just like always, he was powerless to do anything about it. “Tell Bisley Bakur to give up and enjoy what little time remains to him. Consider it one final gift.”

Afterwards, Julius couldn't remember how it happened. He only knew that something inside him at snapped at those final words, and he'd managed to haul himself back to his feet despite the pain caving in his chest, despite the way Rideaux hung off his arm and desperately tried to pull him back. An inhuman strength tumbled through him, an untapped well of emotion he'd been pushing down ever since his mother had been taken from him. Julius staggered against Rideaux's weight and turned with one fist swinging. Rideaux didn't anticipate it; Julius struck him full in the face, just above his right cheekbone.

_That_ made him let go, but too late. Smirking, Chronos drifted back through the portal. It sealed behind him with a low thrumming sound, and as suddenly as that it was only the two of them again; Rideaux's harried breathing and the throb of blood hammering in his ears, and the wilderness empty all around them.

His hands were shaking. Julius looked at them, felt the tremor spread through his body, and then he was on his knees.

He hadn't known it was possible for him to cry any more. He hadn't cried since the day his mother died. But now suddenly it overwhelmed him, and he was helpless. Helpless to keep from curling in on himself, helpless against the thick choking sobs that racked his worthless body.

It was the last thing he would have wanted anyone to see, and perhaps least of all Rideaux. And even worse, it _hurt_. When he stopped it wasn't from the passing of grief, but only from the weakness of his own wounds. Julius gasped thickly, tears continuing to fall heedless down his cheeks, and when Rideaux forcibly rolled him onto his back and laid him out flat, he didn't have the strength or the will to resist.

Rideaux was pale, even with the raw red swell that was already starting to show from where Julius had struck him. “Stay still,” He ordered again, voice strained. He pressed his fingers over Julius's lips, perhaps in anticipation of resistance. “I'm going to try something. It might not help, but it won't make anything worse, so just shut up and let me work.”

As if he were capable of doing anything else. Julius mentally braced himself, expecting... he didn't even know what. Instead he heard Rideaux muttering, and then suddenly felt cool air as his torso was exposed. That prompted him to look, just in time to see Rideaux pressing something small and square against his exposed flesh—his chest was already mottled in red and purple, though the skin appeared unbroken.

Then it _did_  hurt, and Julius swore vividly, tipping his head and feeling the rocky terrain grind against the back of his skull. Rideaux's attention was dedicated to his work, his expression full of tension and his hands moving in a busy flurry across the surface of whatever strange device he was employing.

As if reading Julius's mind, he spoke. “It's an aspyrixes. Not the usual sort. It might—” He shut up then, scowling and chewing his lip, then took his hands away and sat back. Julius didn't know how to explain the sensation that settled over him—the intensifying of one pain balanced precariously against the dissipation of another. Rideaux raised an eyebrow, his expression taking on a measure of satisfaction. “Not bad,” He said, climbing to his feet before silently offering Julius a hand. Just as silently, Julius accepted.

That turned out to be a mistake; pain lanced through him again as he struggled to rise, and Julius grimaced. “This isn't better,” he snarled, but Rideaux rolled his eyes.

“You've got three broken ribs, Kresnik. It's not going to feel great. But they'll mend, especially now that I've intervened. You're lucky I was here.” Maybe some of the tension finally ebbed out of Rideaux then; when he sighed he seemed to visibly deflate, and Julius found himself forcefully reminded of the skinny boy he'd first met in Bakur's office. “You need to rest,” Rideaux said. “It's still taking affect. You can't travel far like this. We're going to have to sleep rough—I suggest you deal with it.”

Julius didn't have the strength to argue. Exhausted, he let Rideaux lead the way.

-

The area was pocked endlessly with rising cliffs and hollowed caves, and it didn't take them long to find shelter. It was a thin tunnel leading into the cliffside, and Julius stared grimly at the unforgiving prospect of trying to crawl through. Sure enough it proved challenging, his vision swimming dangerously as he crouched and shuffled forward, teeth grit against the fresh pain. But then he was through, free to collapse against the nearest wall and watch for Rideaux to emerge behind him.

“Lovely,” Was all Rideaux had to say as he looked around, lip curling with obvious distaste. It was a lot less complaining than Julius had expected. Not sure what else he could possibly do, Julius closed his eyes and tried to surrender himself to restful oblivion and the respite it promised.

It wasn't easy.

The afternoon soon deepened into dusk, and then into twilight. They had nothing to eat or drink, no way to light a fire and no means to control one if they did so. Julius shut his eyes against the persistent headache building within him; Rideaux huddled up tighter, trying to suppress shivers.

“We should go and find the catalyst,” Julius finally said. “We can't stay here.”

Rideaux managed to sound bitter and incredulous, even crunched up and quavering. “If you really want to risk undoing my hard work and puncturing a lung, then by all means. Be my guest.”

Which put an end to _that_. Julius exhaled, ignored the insistent jab of pain that accompanied it, closing his eyes and resolving not to say anything else.

But Rideaux picked up the thread of conversation, perhaps hoping to distract himself from the misery of their situation. “I've never tried that method of aspyrixes application before, you know.”

Julius cracked one eye open, peering at Rideaux's grey silhouette through the encroaching darkness.

“This isn't exactly the controlled environment I would have wanted. The results look positive, but even if it's worked perfectly, I won't be able to present these findings in a way that will be taken seriously. The medical community will demand clinical trials.” He heard Rideaux's irritated sigh.

“You won't be taken seriously anyway,” Julius muttered, and clarified before Rideaux could take it personally. “You're too young. They won't listen.”

But Rideaux had an answer for _that_ too. “They will if Bakur backs me.” Through the gloomy darkness Rideaux shrugged, his voice blithe and unconcerned. “Don't make that face at me.”

_What face?_ Julius wondered, but said only, “You trust him that much?”

“What does trust have to do with it?” Rideaux scoffed. “If Bakur's got any sense he'll see the profit in this.” Apparently Julius was still making 'that face' because Rideaux snorted dismissively. “Stop worrying about nothing. You're supposed to be resting. Shut up and sleep, already.”

Too irritable to try and argue, Julius adjusted himself against the uncomfortable cavern wall and closed his eyes again.

-

Maybe he dozed, and maybe he didn't. The next time he looked Rideaux had shuffled closer, coiled into a tight ball with teeth chattering audibly. It _was_ cold. Julius could feel it too, and drew his legs up toward his chest. Rideaux shifted next to him, and Julius could see the gleam of Rideaux's eyes shining in the darkness.

“Come here,” He mumbled, and maybe the cold had sapped Rideaux's pride away where nothing else could because for once he didn't put up a fight. They huddled close together, heads rested against one another. It was only a small amount of comfort.

But even so, there _was_ comfort in it. Julius stared into the vague darkness, and listened to Rideaux's breathing soften and steady, felt the shivering slowly dissipate.

“I'm sorry I hit you,” Julius whispered, when he was sure Rideaux was no longer conscious to hear him.

As usual when it came to Rideaux, he'd misjudged. “Sorry you hit me _again_ ,” Rideaux murmured quietly beside him; Julius felt a twinge of amusement, despite everything.

“You've hit me plenty of times too, you know.”

Rideaux didn't respond again.

-

Not once did Rideaux try to question him about what had happened—about why Julius had reacted so strongly to Chronos's presence. At first Julius had been bracing himself for the unwelcome onslaught of prying questions, but by the time morning arrived, grey and dripping, it truly seemed as though Rideaux was actually going to respect his privacy.

Julius wasn't sure if he was grateful for that or not. Most likely he was too tired to think about it—he barely managed to sleep, and how Rideaux had managed to curl up beneath his arm and rest so soundly was quite beyond Julius's understanding.

But he had, and it was morning. Julius gently shook Rideaux awake. They still had a job to do.

And in the end, it was all too easy. If Chronos hadn't interrupted them, they might have been done with this dimension in a matter of hours. Julius had grimaced at first, still feeling the strain of injury settled deep in the tissue of his bruised torso, but it seemed as though Rideaux had done good work. It was certainly true that Rideaux seemed proud of himself, and Julius could feel the sense of accomplishment radiating from his smug colleague. For once, he couldn't really begrudge Rideaux's haughty attitude.

“I didn't even know you were researching medicine,” Julius had admitted as they emerged into the gloomy morning.

“Call it a pet project,” Rideaux had replied, before smirking. “You've been a model test subject, Kresnik. You should consider donating yourself to science.”

“Glad I could help,” Julius replied dryly, but didn't try to provoke any further argument. Rideaux had saved his life—Julius supposed he had to try and be grateful.

With the divergence eliminated and their return to the prime dimension uneventful, Julius was resigned to a blissfully uneventful return journey to Trigleph and Spirius Corporation. Lost in his own complicated thoughts, he didn't notice just how quiet Rideaux was being—it wasn't until they were leaving Drellin station, seated in a train carriage that seemed luxurious in comparison to their previous night, that Rideaux finally gave voice to his thoughts.

“We shouldn't tell Bakur about this.”

Just beginning to doze off in his seat, Julius snapped back to attention. His suspicion must have been apparent, because Rideaux quickly raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Again with the looks, Kresnik. I'm saying this for _your_ own good, you know.”

“Is that so?” Julius replied, his voice carefully neutral.

“What do you think will happen if we deliver that message to Bakur?” Rideaux had taken the window seat without bothering to consult Julius; now he leaned his head against the glass, barren red wasteland spinning past behind him. “Do you think he's going to be pleased that we're acting as errand boys for a Great Spirit? He'll give us hell.”

“Maybe we'll deserve it,” Julius muttered. Rideaux ignored him.

“If we tell Bakur what Chronos said, he's just going to work us twice as hard. Do you seriously want to let that happen?”

“Are _you_ really saying we should ignore this?” Despite everything, it was an idea that didn't sit comfortably with Julius.

“Who said that?” Rideaux shrugged. “But if we tell Bakur, all he's going to do is make you even _more_ miserable, and I'm not ready to deal with that. Live a little, Julius. You don't have to do _everything_ Bakur tells you to.”

On another day, under other circumstances, Julius might have hit him for that. Instead he grit his teeth and pressed his fists down into the chair, willing himself not to blame Rideaux for talking about things he didn't understand. “It's not that simple,” He snapped, and looked away; searching for another seat, and a way out of this conversation. Rideaux reached over and grabbed his wrist before he could rise, and Julius immediately jerked his arm away—but stayed where he was.

“Fine,” Rideaux said, brushing his hair back from his face and looking for all the world as though he were sincere and demure. Julius told himself that he knew better. “You've been doing this longer than I have. Between us, don't you think we can figure something out? Trust me. We don't need to get Bakur involved.”

_Trust me_.

Julius couldn't imagine a worse idea. And yet he still remembered the warm feeling of Rideaux curled under his arm just a few short hours ago. He remembered Rideaux kneeling over him, tense and absorbed and fighting to save his life. He remembered Rideaux trying to hold him back from Chronos, keeping him from martyring himself for nothing.

Maybe he'd never asked for it, but Rideaux had protected him. That had to count for something.

“Fine.” He sighed, settled back in his seat, and willed away the knot of uncertainty that sat lodged in his chest. “I won't say anything about Chronos.”

Beside him, Rideaux smiled.

-

By the time they pulled into Trigleph Station, Julius had captured two hours of sleep and somehow felt all the worse for it. It took more effort than he might have thought possible just to depart from the train, and when they stepped outside the prospect of walking into Spirius was unspeakably awful.

“You barely slept last night,” Rideaux reminded him, before nodding toward the spot where Chronos's attack had struck him. “And you're still walking wounded, you know. You should go and rest. I'll report that we're back.”

“Don't you need to rest as well?” Julius countered, even as he privately admitted to himself that the idea of letting Rideaux deal with everything was incredibly tempting. Rideaux gave him a sour smile.

“I do, and that's exactly what I'll be doing as soon as I've filed a report. Get out of here, Kresnik. Doctor's orders.”

It all sounded so fair and reasonable, and Rideaux's bossy arrogance was familiar enough to be comforting. Julius felt a residual twinge of pain in his chest, as though his own body was willing him to give in and rest. Defeated, he nodded agreement and raised a hand to pat Rideaux's shoulder. “Thank you,” He said, and then said it again; embarrassed and quiet, but sincere. “Thank you, Rideaux.”

Rideaux stared at him in silence, a second longer than was comfortable—but finally his face softened into a smile, and he dipped his chin in acknowledgement. “You're welcome.”

-

Julius slept for most of the day, ate, and then slept through the night. By the next morning he was still feeling sluggish, and his torso and stomach were mottled with yellowing bruises, but he felt better than he had since Chronos's attack. Julius lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, wishing more than anything that he could simply stay there indefinitely. That he wouldn't be forced to return to work and confront his failings.

Seeing Bakur was only going to remind him of his own weakness. The two great enemies of his life, the two responsible for taking his mother from him, were both still so far beyond his reach. All of his efforts up until this point had been for nothing. Chronos had thrown him down like a discarded rag, and Julius knew with bitter certainty that his father could do the same.

By the time he walked into Spirius, Julius had forced his thoughts around to a lighter topic, albeit one that still managed to vex him. The knowledge that he was now indebted to Rideaux was niggling at him, like an splinter he couldn't quite reach. Was there something he could do to repay Rideaux's efforts? Could it be as simple as perhaps buying him something? Rideaux _was_ always preening, after all. Some sort of cosmetic gift...

Those were the concerns occupying his thoughts as he wandered through Spirius HQ; the concerns occupying his thoughts when he was pulled aside and quietly ordered to report to the CEO's office.

Julius's first instinct was suspicion, but he quickly dismissed the notion. It would hardly be the first time Bakur wanted him to report on a fractured dimension, and the fact that he hadn't returned to work yesterday wouldn't have gone unnoticed. The thought of admitting to a moment of weakness was humiliating, but no more unpleasant than any other time he was forced to endure his father's presence. He'd been anticipating something like this. It would be fine.

When he walked into Bakur's office he'd half expected to find Rideaux there as well, but it was only himself and his father. Julius took a familiar position in front of Bakur's desk, hands clasped loosely behind his back and his eyes set straight ahead. All of a sudden he left conspicuously aware of his lost glasses, left behind after Chronos's attack—Julius's fingers twitched, instinctively wanting to reach for frames that were no longer there.

He breathed out deeply, and tried to detach himself from the situation. He'd had plenty of years to practice.

“You weren't here yesterday,” Bakur said, sitting behind his desk with his chin rested on one hand. Casual, conversational. Julius stared through him. “What happened?”

“I was injured in combat when we confronted the divergence catalyst,” Julius replied, suddenly and acutely aware that he and Rideaux had never taken the time to discuss any sort of cover story. Why hadn't that occurred to him before? What if he accidentally contradicted whatever story Rideaux had given? He had to keep his version of events simple. “We took some time to recuperate, defeated the catalyst, and then I went home to recover. I apologise, sir.”

“Sounds serious,” Bakur said; Julius could have sworn there was a flicker of amusement in his voice. “You've recovered now?”

Julius nodded, and almost left it at that. Then inspiration struck—a debt repaid, a gift given. “Rideaux took care of my injury. He's been developing medical technology, he said. If he hadn't been there, things would have been much worse.” Julius looked at his father, met his eyes and kept his voice steady. “The fault was mine, not his. You should reward him, and offer him your endorsement.”

It was an impudent suggestion, to be sure. Julius was well aware of that. Even so he hardly expected Bakur to outright laugh, and Julius almost recoiled at the unwelcome sound of mockery, hands balling into fists behind his back.

“Don't worry about that,” Bakur told him once he had his laughter under control. He rose from behind his desk. “Rideaux's already made his involvement perfectly clear. Now. Tell me about Chronos.”

This time Julius _did_ recoil, backing away an involuntary step as his father started moving toward him. But Bakur simply took a perched seat on the corner of his own desk, still playing the role of conversational familiarity, and Julius forced himself to stay still and consider what was happening.

It should have been obvious, but somehow, it wasn't. Julius stumbled over the words, replayed them in his mind, and tried to decide what he should say. How had Bakur found out? What had Rideaux said...?

“Chronos attacked us...” Julius started slowly, eyes darting aside as he desperately considered what to say next. “That's how I was injured. But he retreated.” Defiant, Julius raised his chin. “We completed our mission.”

“You did,” Bakur conceded, “Although I wouldn't expect any different from you. Sit down, Julius.”

 Julius wanted to do nothing of the sort, particularly with the way his father was looking at him; smarmy but warm, as though he had some wisdom to impart. Whatever it was, Julius knew he didn't want to hear it. But what choice did he have? He walked across the room and sat on the leather couch, stiff and uncomfortable and as formal as he could maintain. Bakur's expression seemed to dim slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was harder than before.

“Rideaux tells me that you had no intention of telling me about this. That you asked him to keep this from me.”

Julius pressed his teeth together, and ignored the cold dread seeping through his skin. Did everything he possibly could to keep his expression as empty as possible—to keep his father from experiencing the satisfaction of humiliating him any further. Rideaux's smile came back to him, the way Rideaux had greeted his thanks, and somehow the expression he remembered didn't seem so different to the one Bakur was making. Julius felt sick.

“Were you ashamed of being harmed by Chronos?” Bakur tilted his head, hands clasped neatly over one knee. “You needn't be. He is a powerful adversary. Had I known to expect him, I would never have sent you two alone. I'm glad that you returned safely, and I'm proud of both of you.” It might have seemed sincere if he'd only stopped there. “You both have too much potential; losing you now would have been a disaster.”

“I'm sure,” Julius responded dryly, and immediately regretted it when Bakur raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Would you like to hear how Rideaux told it?” Bakur's smile was mocking, and Julius found himself suddenly unsure which one of them Bakur was laughing at. “He insists that you were reckless, and would have been killed if he hadn't saved you. He says he saved your life, and forced Chronos into a humiliating retreat.” Bakur scoffed. “You would have thought he might have at least come up with a believable lie.”

Julius didn't know what to say; not least of all because half of it was truth. Teeth grit, he opted to keep his thoughts to himself. Bakur shook his head.

“He's brave, I'll give him that. He lied to my face as though it was the easiest thing in the world. That's much more challenging than what you've chosen to do.” Bakur chuckled, then, a cool sound not without malice. “Maybe his lies will become more subtle when he gets older. I'm not sure if I should look forward to that or not.”

Suddenly his father rose again, and Julius cringed internally at the switch in their positions. Now _he_ was seated, forced to crane his neck up at the looming figure of his father. Bakur's expression had darkened; not open aggression, but no longer pretending at kindness.

“I'll make this easy for you,” He said, in a voice that demanded agreement. “You might think that boy is a friend to you, Julius. He isn't. He's a vulture. He might parade around like he's a peacock, but nothing can ever change where he came from.” Bakur turned away, marching back around his desk. “He's spent too long living off the scraps of others. It makes him useful, and it makes him predictable. It even makes him worthy of your pity. Pity him if you like, Julius. But don't make the mistake of trusting him again.”

Julius rose to his feet as soon as Bakur sat back down, surprised to find his heart pounding painfully in his chest. Bakur nodded dismissal, and spoke to his retreating back.

“Rideaux will be rewarded for his courage and quick thinking. Next time, make sure it's you.”

Julius waited until the door had closed behind him before squeezing his eyes shut and pressing the heels of his palms over his face.

-

The worst part was the way Rideaux smiled at him when he approached. The vain little bastard was wearing some sort of concealer, his face pale and pristine without so much as a hint of where Julius had punched him two days previous. Julius struggled against the urge to do it again, emotions roiling wildly within him. Rideaux seemed to be waiting for a violent response—when it didn't happen, his smile sharpened.

“Don't look at me like that,” He drawled, the words becoming all too familiar between them—how many times had Rideaux shut him down with words like those? Rideaux leaned back precariously in his chair, smirking at whatever he saw in Julius's expression. “It wasn't anything personal.”

It was too late for questions, and too late for anything to undo what Rideaux had done. Even so Julius drew his breathe in through his gritted teeth and pushed Bakur's words out of his mind, reaching deep inside himself for whatever guttering spark remained of the Julius Will Kresnik who'd believed in whatever it was that had formed between himself and the smirking bastard sitting before him.

“Why?” 

He made himself ask, forced himself to growl the word, and still that final part of him hoped. Hoped to see any kind of hesitation in Rideaux's answer, any hint of pause or regret. Something, anything, to lend some semblance of truth to the strange friendship he'd never asked for. The strange friendship he'd truly, stupidly believed existed between them.

Rideaux crossed his ankles and pursed his lips, smirk still in place. “Oh, Kresnik. If you haven't figured _that_ out by now then there really _isn't_ any hope for you.”

Julius didn't hit him. He didn't even answer. Instead he raised one foot, hooked it under the edge of Rideaux's chair, and kicked upwards. Watching Rideaux topple backwards with an indignant yell and a flurry of helpless limbs wasn't anything close to appeasing his anger, but it was a start. He didn't wait for Rideaux to rise, and didn't listen to whatever livid words Rideaux hurled after him as he walked away.

His eyes were burning, but it didn't matter. This time, he truly had nothing else to give.


End file.
